A Second Perspective
by Ameli Abbot
Summary: Harry Potter is often the main character. Harry Potter is the center of wizarding world. But what happens when the tables are turned? When Mr. Potter becomes a young girl's mysterious neighbor.A different look at OotP.
1. Chapter 1

Hello my fellow HP readers, this is my first HP fanfiction. .  
If parts of it seem familiar, its because its OotP in a different point ofview. I found thissurprisingly fun to write.  
I have some awesome ideas for the continuing chapters, but it all starts with this first chapter.  
Read and enjoy.  
And if you have the time... reviews are _always _nice. n.n

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of J.K. Rowling's characters.

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"Who is that boy?" 

"I don't know, quite the idiot, I presume. My father tells me not to even come in contact with such a hoodlum."

The young girl wrinkled her nose slightly while listening to this comment. She stood, squinting through the shades hanging before the glass pane, protecting her from the "vile creature".

"Really?" the girl answered her friend, as an after thought, "You don't even know his name?"

The other girl looked at her as though she had been offended, as though her own intelligence was being mocked. Her fair skinned forehead crinkled, and the rest of her face became a pout.

"Well, I do know _some_ things." She spoke with an air as if her words were gold, and she now awaited her friend's begging for the smallest speck.

And it came soon enough.

"What? What do you know about _him_?" she said with a nod, acknowledging where a messy-haired boy once had been; near an open window outside one of the most bizarre yet respectable residents on Privet Drive, the Dursleys.

"I know that his parents died when he was very young."

"How awful!"

"But how he acts…" she spoke now, with detest in her voice. "_He doesn't even care_."

"Jesimae, y-you're not serious."

"Celia, would I lie to you?"

Celia fought the urge to say "maybe" and being the pushed around girl she always had been, she forced a smile, and leapt for more gold.

"What else?"

"Well, he has this weird scar on his face." Jesimae touched her index finger to her forehead and made an invisible lightning bolt.

"You've actually seen it, I mean, up close?"

"No… but I've been told so."

Celia looked up at her friend, only a tiny spot of disbelief shown in her eyes, she hoped Jesimae wouldn't notice.

And to her relief, she didn't.

Celia looked out the window once more, trying to catch a small glimpse of this terrible fiend.

'Where is he?' she thought.

Seeing that her gold had to turned to rust within seconds, Jesimae cleared her throat and spoke again.

"Doesn't Dudley live there?"

"Who?"

"You know, Dudley. I think his last name is Dursley… or something…"

"Yeah, I've seen him walking around the gate surrounding Smeltings. He's really full of himself…"

"But he's the Inter-School Boxing Champion; he has the right to be conceited."

"But he's but—he wasn't very nicetomy little brother…"

"I'm sure for a very good reason—"

"No… he was just speaking up for his friend, and Mark came home with a bloody nose."

"Celia, be reasonable. There must be something missing from Mark's story."

Celia looked at the girl that stood before her with great disgust. The lights in the room flickered on and off.

"You just like him because-because—"

There was a loud cracking sound heard outside the window the both were peering through just a few minutes ago.

Quickly after, the boy appeared from beneath a large Hydrangea bush, hitting his head hard on the open window.

"Ouch…" Celia's eyes were drawn to the glassy pane once more, opening the beige colored shades now obstructing her view.

Swiftly she pushed the window open.

"What are you doing Cel— Stop! You don't want to be seen by that—that_ thing_."

The curious girl poked her head out through the window. There seemed to be many who had just done the same as she had, for there was much more noise than there was shortly before.

And to her joy and yet to her horror, she saw this creature as he was.

And instead of hatred and anger, she felt pity, and remorse for thinking of him with such atrociousness.

A large man joined the scruffy boy, and they appeared to be fighting, the boy carried what looked like a twig in his hands.

"Lovely Evening!" the man shouted, as if he were hiding something, "Did you hear that car backfire just now?" he compelled a harsh laugh, "Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!"

The boy had freed himself from the man's arms, and Celia could tell his eyes were searching around the neighborhood trying to find something else to look at, instead of the man's horrible smile. And with a blush, his eyes fell to her. She tried to smile, but she quickly turned her face away from him, she suddenly felt the blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Don't look at him, I'm sure he's going to hunt you down, and-and—and kill you now—Now that you've made eye contact!"

Celia wasn't listening. She looked back to the unkempt boy once again, but his gaze was now averted. A long faced woman joined the man now, and the two shouted at him with utmost rage.

"Wha—what's going on?"

"How should I know? Why are you suddenly so obsessed, so preoccupied at watching this_ idiot_ stomp around?"

"That's how you are with Dudley." Celia spoke below a whisper, letting her curly blonde hair fall in her face, as her eyes traveled to the floor.

"You are—Celia, you don't—You don't understand—There's a big difference—" Jesimae's voice rose slightly with each word that fell from her lips.

"Really?" the blonde said, with a touch of sarcasm to her tone.

"Yes! Really! At least Dudley—Dudley—dresses with some dignity!" the young advocate pointed at the boy being shouted at. To Celia's dismay, the brunette was quite right. His shirt was over-sized, dirty, and the jeans he wore looked like they belonged to an elephant.

"Look at that! So… _filthy_."

As the brunette said these words, the boy stormed off into the on setting night.

"Where's he going?"

"Why should we care?" Jesimae said, a timid smile being painted on her face, trying to put their scuffle behind them, for fear of losing her beloved crony.

"Well, what if something bad happens to him?" Celia's gold curls now pushed behind her ears, a firm look of loathing was still plastered upon her face; the simple smile couldn't wave away the repulsion that still flowed through her veins.

"Again I ask, why should _we_ care, about _him_?"

Celia's face was stern, and the lights flickered once more.

"What is wrong with the lights at your house?" Jesimae cringed with her words, looking about the room with disapproving eyes.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with my home." Celia seemed to growl, trying to calm her anger.

"There it goes again, nothing like this _ever_ happens at _my_ house." The girl said with sickening pride.

Celia's eyes were focused now, focused on the brown strands of hair that hung from the proud head.

"Now it's warm in here. Seriously. There is something wrong." The pride appeared to grow now, but there was strain in her voice. She'd never seen Celia this angry before. Suddenly the blonde's eyes grew wide.

"Oh my… I am so sorry!" the girl's voice held back a scream; she ran to her vanity drawer and picked up a small spray bottle.

"What's going on—" the only sound that followed was an earth shattering scream.

There was a small flame ignited on the young girl's head, and Celia pleaded with her to stop fidgeting so she could successfully put the fire out.

"Put it out! Put it out!"

"I'm trying to! Stop moving, you're going to let the fire spread."

Celia's words were not calming, and Jesimae shrieked more than she had before.

"What's going on?" a man and a woman entered the pink bedroom; a shock hit their eyes, "How did this happen?"

"I'm sorry! I don't know what happened." Celia cried, burying her face in her hands. The flame was gone, but it took a large piece of Jesimae's hair with it.

The man and woman, apparently, Celia's mother and father, spoke almost at the same instant, "We are incredibly sorry; we'll speak to your parents as soon as possible; don't cry; please _don't_ cry…"

Jesimae ignored their pleas, and cried, almost forcefully as though she just wanted to start an uproar. Celia was no help either; she sat on the pink carpet floor and held her knees to her chest sobbing relentlessly.

"I-I'm so sor-sorry." She whimpered through tear stained lips.

"I WON'T STOP CRYING UNTIL—UNTIL SHE'S PUNISHED!" the burnt brunette screamed at the top of her lungs, silently Celia rejoiced for shutting the window just moments before.

"Jesimae, she will be reprimanded for her actions, but only until we find out what really caught your hair on fire—"

"SHE DID! SHE DID! SHE DID!"

"How could she? Have you any proof?" Celia's father asked bewildered, and a little agitated at this 11 year old, making such accusations about his daughter.

"I DON'T KNOW!" the girl screamed even more, now looking into Celia's vanity mirror, tears welling up in her eyes at the sight of the charred clump of hair. A much deafening shriek followed her tears.

"We will notify your parents, _now_." Celia's father and mother forced the bawling child through the bedroom door.

"Afterward, we will have a quick word with _you_." Celia's parent's looked warningly at the young girl, then followed the trail of screams down the hallway.

"I'LL SUE!" were the only words the fair-haired girl could hear through the pink door.

'How…' she thought, 'I just imagined it…and it happened.'

Celia's eyes grew wide for the second time that day. She then began to breathe very hard, her lungs felt like they had been weighted with saw dust. She clung to the window sill and pushed the glass pane open.

She gasped, a cool breeze swept through her window. Her eyes then sought a very small boy sprinting to her.

"Mark?" she spoke to herself, as though nothing more strange could happen that day, "Mark!" she yelled through her window, she then realized the boy wasn't running; he was limping toward the house. His left eye was as black as night.

The girl darted out of her bedroom, past the whining brunette, through the small house's entrance, and retrieved the small boy in her arms.

"What happened? Are you okay? Where's Mrs. Figg? Wasn't she watching you?"

"Let go of me! I'm fine!" the boy shouted pushing his anxious sister away from him, though he was small, he was only just a short year younger than his sibling.

"She had to leave." The boy panted, "Something, bad. She was mumbling something…maggot dungus flicker? I don't know… Ran into Dudley on the way to—the park…"

"So she left you, alone, at the park?" Fury was building in her eyes.

"No… we were at the store. She was buyingcat food—she told me—to go home…"

"SO YOU WENT ALL THE WAY TO THE PARK BY YOURSELF!" Celia sounded like a worry-stricken parent that had already called the police, and sent out a search and rescue team, when the child had been hiding beneath his bed the entire time. Luckily the two's actual parents entered the scene in the nick of time.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know… I-I fell." Mark said, even though an idiot could tell he was lying through his teeth.

"On your eye?" There was thick sarcasm poured over her words when Celia spoke.

Mark glared.

"Let's go clean you up." His mother took him by the hand and led him into the house, followed by Jesimae, still trying to vie for her attention.

"What about me! I'm the one with burned hair; this would never happen at my house; do you know what my dad said about undisciplined families—?"

"Now," Celia's father spoke, stress constantly growing in his face, "What exactly happened?"

"I don't know." Celia spoke with as much earnest in her voice, and she was calmed with the fact that her father believed her.

"I see." He said wisely, "But, always remember, if you ever _do_ know," his eyes were glowing with honesty and concern, "You can always tell your mother and I."

The girl nodded and hugged her father, then the both entered the house, not surprised to see a small girl on the floor, kicking and screaming, and a mother and son not paying the least bit of attention.

¤•¤•¤•¤•¤

Jesimae never came by the house again for the rest of the summer. But she did walk on the sidewalk across the street from Celia's house, either with her group of followers or walking a very small pure-breed Chihuahua dog on a hot pink leash. They would point and make mocking faces at the girl behind the glass; the next school year was going to be a little different than the last.

Days past and the pale-haired girl lived just as any girl would during her summer. But the only thing thatworried her was that theawkward boy thatshe saw storm off into the night a few weeks ago,did not appear around the Dursley's home since then. She was a little disappointed only seeing a large-bodied boy leave the house each day, and returning lateeach night. She made up excuses in her mind as to what happened to the unkempt boy, 'Maybe he's visiting relatives… or is just really sick…'

School supplies werebought and packed. Celia was ready for the next school year, come what may. Maybe she would be able to start a fire on the other locks on Jesimae's egotistical head.

But something strange happened the very morning before the welcoming of another year's education.

A small, black and white feathered bird fluttered through Celia's bedroom window carrying what looked like a small piece of paper. The girl focused her eyes as she awoke, lifting herself leisurely from the fluff ofher down comforter flopped atop her bed.  
"Owl..." she said half asleep, rubbing her eyes tiredly thinking the bird was just a normal part of her room. Then it hit her.  
"OWL!"

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Thanks for reading, .  
If its not too much trouble, please review? 


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of J.K. Rowling's characters.

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"Get out! Get out! Get out!" Celia had leapt from her bed onto her bed side table, pushing a small reading lamp off the desk. And with a loud crash the object fell to pieces on the floor. Celia groaned lifting the lamp from the ground, carefully setting the mangled item on her vanity, still eyeing the owl suspiciously. 

"Are you all right, dear?" Celia could hear her mother calling from the kitchen.

"I'm fine, mum." She said hastily, still trying to figure why exactly a bird had appeared in her room.

"What are you doing here?" Celia breathed, trying to keep her voice down. The bird seemed to smile timidly with his eyes, as he held its leg out toward the girl. She quickly realized there was a letter tied to it.

"What's this?" Celia said, slightly amused and perplexed at the same time.

After taking the letter from its leg, the bird looked up at the tired child, and again with his eyes begged her to read it.

_Miss C. Evans  
__12 Privet Drive  
__Little Whinging  
__Surrey_

"Alright, you silly bird," Celia nervously patted the owl on his head, and it cooed happily. She smiled as she unfolded the piece of parchment and read aloud, as if reading a bedtime story to a small child:

Hogwarts School  
_of_ Witchcraft _and_ Wizardry

ﺼ

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Miss Evans,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

The term begins on September 1. We will be awaiting the retrieval of your owl by no later than this evening at 12 o' clock midnight.

Yours sincerely,

_Minerva McGonagall_

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Celia looked up from the document, and gasped with a breath of excitement,

"I'm a witch…" Celia said cheerfully, she couldn't help but smile at her words, the owl cooed with glee hopping up and down on the girl's dresser. But soon after at least a minute of rejoice, she then recognized the ridiculousness of the letter she had just received.

"I'm a… _witch…_" she whispered, a doubtful glint in her eyes, "Well, I'm a witch, eh? I'll show him witch." The bird looked at her dejectedly.

She got up from where she sat upon her bed, and rushed out her bedroom door; the owl flew from his perch and created a new one on her shoulder as she slipped into a sprint down the hall.

"Mum! Dad!" she called reaching the kitchen, surprised to meet another face at the breakfast table.

"Good morning, Mrs. Figg." She said, pushing a smile to her lips, seating herself at the table, forgetting the bird that clung to her shoulder.

"Celia," Mrs. Evans spoke, her eyes staring at the owl, obviously concerned, but her voice kept a whimsical tone, "Who's your friend?"

The girl gaped at her mother for a second, confused, unaware now of her "friend" snatching a slice of bacon from the plate on the table.

"Oh! Um, I was sent a letter this morning, carried by him," the owl cooed merrily as if raising his hand so those around him knew who she was talking about, Celia didn't notice the sparkle in Mrs. Figg's eyes as she said this.

"Where's Mark?" the girl said fighting the owl for the last scone.

"Still sleeping." Her father supposed in a tired voice, "A letter you say? From whom?"

"I think Mark is trying to prank me," she opened the letter once more, and read the parchment again. Everyone stared blankly at the girl, as though she had just told them a very strange fairy tale, everyone except for the old woman holding a gray speckled cat.

"I believe Mark has out done himself," Mrs. Evans grinned, clearing the breakfast dishes from the table, giving the small owl a pat on the head as she past by to the kitchen sink.

"He gets it from me, Sarah," Mr. Evans said to his wife, with a low laugh.

Mrs. Figg sipped her tea soundly, and then cleared her throat.

"Why do you speak like this is a hoax?" Her voice was very somber, and she petted her cat more carefully than before, "That letter she holds in her hands," she smiled before she finished her sentence, "Is 100 factual."

The owl leapt onto Celia's shoulder, pulling out the blonde strands of hair sticking out of her messy pony-tail. Mrs. Evans dropped the sponge she had been washing her dishes with, along with a glass plate, hitting the floor with a splash of soapy water and a million flecks of sharp glass. Celia's father took the news somewhat easier, stopping mid-stretch in his yawn, and keeping that position as Celia looked questioningly at Mrs. Figg looking as calm as she was.

"You're a witch?" Celia asked, now standing from her seat, afraid this woman who had watched over her since she was a very small child, was about to cast a horrible hex on her.

"No, no… I'm a squib." She laughed. "My family consists of all pure-bloods, I was just… unlucky." She ended her words with a content shrug, her cat meowing softly.

"Wait… what?" Sarah Evans was turning a bit red in the face as she spoke, not out of anger, but out of fear and curiosity for her young daughter. Celia was becoming excited. Her letter was real, she_ was_ magical.

"But where will I get my school supplies? A caldron, a wand—"

"Where is she going? How will we know if she's okay—"

"She will be perfectly fine—"

"A witch… just like Lily…"

"—A telescope—"

"Darling, that's the least of our worries—"

"Quince, what's going on—"

"Arabella did you know about this—"

"Who's Miranda Goshawk—"

The babble was constant.

No one knew what was going on, and no one wanted to know, except for the little blonde girl rereading her letter for the third time that morning.

"I assure you." Mrs. Figg said sternly, "Everything will be fine. You will need to buy your school supplies like all young wizards do. And I can help with that."

The woman took the owl kindly in her hands. Taking a piece of scrap paper and borrowing a blue pen, she ripped the paper in half, and wrote two short messages on each piece.

Finally words came to the elder's lips.

"One letter to decree you will be attending Hogwarts," she carefully tied the paper to the owl's leg, Mr. Evans' face went pale, "Another," her voice ambled on, "To acquire an escort." And thus she fastened the other letter to the bird, petting it slightly, and telling it where to go. The owl cooed in reply, and fluttered out through a window.

"No good can come of this." Quince Evans said, suddenly lacking his often wise tone of voice.

"Are you sure this is safe?" his wife replied now confused as to why her husband was being so cautious.

"Perfectly safe." Mrs. Figg said with a thick grin, "The escort will bring you to Diagon Alley, and assist you with your shopping."

Celia just smiled a very loud smile as her parents stared at her weakly.

"A wizard. My daughter is a _wizard_?" Quince asked completely awestruck.

"A witch, actually." Celia corrected.

"Where is this Diagon Alley?" Celia's mother asked, sweeping up the broken glassware.

There was a knock at the front door.

Everyone froze, Arabella smiled, "I'll get that." She rose from her seat and slowly made her way to the threshold. A few moments later a man in a violet suit, wearing a very tall top hat with a small, lilac flower tucked into its brim, entered the kitchen.

"I would like you to meet Mr. Dedalus Diggle." Mrs. Figg said, gesturing at the man.

"It is a pleasure to meet you." Dedalus bowed a very low bow.

"You look so much like Lil—" Mr. Diggle was about to finish his sentence but was jabbed in the stomach by a sharp elbow. The older woman ended his sentence hoping to quickly change the subject.

"Hello Mr. Diggle, my name is Quince Evans, this is my wife, Sarah Evans, and it is very nice to meet you." Celia's father shook Dedalus' hand far from gingerly. Mr. Evans often played this routine every time he would meet a new face, especially when the person he was shaking hands with was going to be looking after one of his children.

But Celia wasn't listening. She gripped the paper in her hands sitting on the kitchen floor, happily wondering if she could name at least one thousand herbs or fungi.

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Reviews are peachy. 


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